


Every Sunday Should Be Like This

by sheafrotherdon



Category: Harry Potter - Rowling
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-01-30
Updated: 2005-01-30
Packaged: 2017-10-11 23:27:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,045
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/118334
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sheafrotherdon/pseuds/sheafrotherdon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A post-Hogwarts day in the life.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Every Sunday Should Be Like This

The day started, as Sundays were wont to do, with an argument about whether Sirius should wear pants before breakfast. Remus was a general advocate for the wearing of _something_ around the flat, while Sirius was content to wander around, airing his tackle and generally leaving things "as the universe bloody well intended, you git."

Sirius almost won until Remus reminded him of the frightful draft that whistled under the living room window, and the astonishing distances over which hot bacon grease could leap. At that Sirius gave in, but refused to wear anything but Remus' blue flannel pajama bottoms. Remus dutifully adopted his put-upon face for show.

The rest of the morning unfolded as it ought, with eggs and slightly burned toast, strong cups of tea, and the newspaper spread all over the living room floor. Remus read the wedding announcements aloud, since they both got a kick out of the ridiculous behavior of society witches. Sirius grumbled over the latest Quidditch news and Remus asked about the football scores just to make him glower. They scanned the job pages together, engaging in an earnest competition to find the very worst job of the week. (Erumpent Hygiene Manager won hands down). Sirius did the crossword puzzle with his tongue sticking out the corner of his mouth, ignoring the clues and preferring to see how many obscene words he could string together in the grid. Remus read the international news section very quietly, and drew a beard on a photograph of nasty toad-faced woman who annoyed him for no good reason at all. (Having a beard drawn all over her face seemed to annoy the toad woman too, so it was a very satisfying arrangement).

Eventually, however, Sunday morning melted into Sunday afternoon, and by two o'clock Sirius was restless. "How'd you feel about a bit of Quidditch," he asked, sitting up with a sudden burst of energy.

"Depends which bit. I'm fond of the Q but the double d's are so damn irritating." Remus peered around his section of the paper to smile at the pleasantly murderous look on Sirius' face.

"Your wit, it bites. How I laugh."

Remus snorted. "Poor Padfoot. You were saying something very important?"

"How 'bout we throw a Quaffle around? We could floo Peter . . ."

"Who's on a trip to Bermuda with his mother."

"Bermuda?"

"Yes."

Sirius frowned. "Is that the place with all the triangles?"

"Just the one actually."

Sirius opened his mouth to ask more questions about the puzzling geometric qualities of Peter's destination, but quickly decided his own Sunday afternoon was more important. "We can floo James."

"He's gone to visit Petunia with Lily."

Sirius was thunderstruck. "Is the man right in the head?"

"He's playing nice. They're going to be family."

"All the more reason to stay away as long as he can . . ." Sirius muttered, standing up and moving across the living room to peer out of the window. "We could go running."

Remus let the newspaper fall against his chest. "Must we actually do anything? Couldn't we just lay around and generally fall into dreadful habits?"

Sirius chewed the idea over. "What kind of dreadful habits?"

"Sloth. Lust. Degeneracy."

"I am a fan of all of those things," Sirius agreed wistfully, wandering back from the window.

"I hear the makings of a 'but' . . ."

Sirius knelt on the floor and propped his chin on Remus' knee. "But I'm itchy and out of sorts. I need fresh air and exercise, just like the ministry says, with its food sphinxes . . ."

"Pyramids."

" . . . and other helpful advice about living a long and happy life."

Remus stared at Sirius for a long, thoughtful minute. "Is this some elaborate plan?" he asked.

"What?"

"A plan. A ruse. A ploy to get me out of our warm flat . . ."

Sirius jerked his head toward the crack beneath the window. "Warm?"

". . . so that you can get doggy and play fetch?"

"No." Sirius frowned. "Although you know you had fun the last time I did."

"Except for the part where you pouted."

Sirius bristled. "Dogs don't pout."

"You came as close as any dog could. Couldn't be satisfied with a regular stick, could you? Had to go find an entire _branch_ of a tree."

"It was a bloody brilliant branch!"

"It was a branch so large you almost threw a disc dragging it about."

"It smelled good. And it was chewy."

Remus pushed Sirius' hair away from his face. "I don't doubt it was both of those things. I simply don't think the caber toss should have any place in my life."

Sirius laughed despite himself. "C'mon Moony. No branches, no Padfoot – just you and me and a walk in the park. What could be more Sunday-afternoon than a walk in the park?"

"But it looks like rain," Remus offered, doubtfully.

Sirius pffted. "It's _England_. It always looks like rain."

Remus tugged dispiritedly at his own ear lobe. "Why haven't we left this place to set up home in the Bahamas?"

"Because we're mad for chip butties," said Sirius if addressing one who was addled. "And I'm still holding out for a tryst with Mick Jagger."

"Of course." Remus sighed heavily and met Sirius' pleading gaze. "All right, all right. I guess I can summon up the energy for a walk."

Sirius sat back on his heels and grinned. "Did you know you're my favorite werewolf in all the world?"

It was Remus' turn to pfft.

~*~

Sirius, for whom the great outdoors was not nearly entertaining enough by itself, instigated a game of I-Spy the moment they reached the park. Remus lost the first round by failing to guess that R stood for Reginald (or at least a man who, in Sirius' opinion, was called Reginald if there was any justice in the world). Sirius quickly guessed that S stood for swan, and berated Remus for choosing something so obvious. Remus in turn worked out that C stood for the cake Sirius was merely _thinking_ about, but not until after he'd guessed 'cummerbund' and Sirius laughed so hard he turned a shade of puce not previously seen in nature.

They walked around the pond (into which Remus threatened to throw Sirius if the latter didn't stop quacking and confusing the ducks) and up to the greenhouses (which caused Sirius to wax lyrical about the tawdry antics of his youth and Remus to roll his eyes so often he almost strained something vital). They bought ice creams and ate them messily, licking their fingers and trading sly glances that communicated knowledge of better uses for their tongues. Lacking the privacy to engage in such antics they ambled past the playground (where they overheard six new ways to remark upon a friend's resemblance to a monkey) and drifted past the hut where any person possessing 25p could rent a deck-chair by the hour.

Which was when it began to rain.

Remus sighed and turned up the collar of his coat. "You'd think it was time for Wimbledon," he muttered, gazing up into an iron-grey sky committed to doing its best to replicate a tropical monsoon season.

Sirius shifted restlessly from foot to foot. "Does this mean we have to go home now?" he asked with the tiniest hint of sulk in his voice.

"Well . . ." Remus shivered as icy trickles of rainwater insinuated themselves beneath his shirt. Rain was bouncing furiously off the pavement and soaking the bottom of his jeans.

"Couldn't we stay a little longer?" Sirius asked. "Make the best of it? Splash in puddles and get as muddy as a Chaser in a farmyard?"

Remus squinted at the image that conjured. "What would a Chaser be doing in a farmyard?"

Sirius waved a hand as if to dismiss all questions. "Doesn't matter. What matters is surrendering to the rain. Getting all whajamacallit. Fen. Pen. Yen."

"Zen?"

"Yes!" Sirius jumped directly into a puddle to emphasize the point.

The expression on Remus' face suggested his brain was hurting rather badly. "Since when do you know anything about Zen?"

"Since Matilda Swathbourne's information session behind greenhouse number two in fifth year. I went 'cause I thought it sounded like it had something to do with sex."

Remus' expression softened into one of pity. "Poor boy," he said, patting Sirius on his extremely damp shoulder. "The things you did when you thought you were straight."

"Yes, well," said Sirius, uncomfortably. "Let that be the thing of which we do not speak."

"Hmmm." Remus stuck his hands in his pockets and stared at his shoes for a second. The path was rapidly turning into a stream. "May we speak of tennis?"

"Tennis?"

Remus snuck a glance at Sirius' face. "Yes. You know, for the sake of argument and all."

"You want to stand here and speak of tennis?" Sirius pushed his sodden hair back from his face. "Is everyone I know losing their mind?"

Remus flashed a smile and bent down to retrieve a beaten-up tennis ball from the edge of the path on which they stood. "I thought someone might want to play fetch," he said, shrugging his shoulders.

Sirius stared, open-mouthed for several seconds. "Fetch?" he asked, a little breathlessly. "Fetch in the _rain_?"

Remus threw the ball into the air and caught it with one hand. "I just wondered . . . "

Sirius darted off the path into the thicket of trees beside it, emerging moments later as Padfoot and giving a delighted woof. He ran forward (chasing his tail in delight for a second) and paused before Remus, going down on his front paws while his tail wagged vigorously with joy.

"Daft dog," said Remus fondly, and threw the tennis ball as far as it could go. Padfoot tore after it, barking excitedly, mud and water spraying in his wake.

It took over an hour to properly exhaust Padfoot to the point at which he'd agree to go home. He trotted beside Remus as they walked toward the flat, the ragged tennis ball still between his teeth and his fur caked with mud. Remus was scarcely better, splattered with dirt to his knees and his clothes sodden from the as yet unrelenting rain. To Padfoot's ears there was a definite sloshing sound coming from Remus' limbs, as if the marrow of his bones had been replaced by water. The sound was particularly acute as Remus lifted his hand to unlatch the gate to their postage-stamp sized yard.

Out of public view, Sirius transformed immediately, grabbed Remus by the lapels of his coat, and pulled him into a kiss. There was mud on Sirius' face, splatters of dirt on his lips, but his only thought was that Remus tasted like rain. Remus' lips parted on a sigh, his tongue curling around Sirius' as if the heat of the kiss could thaw the chill in their bones and dry the clothes that clung to their backs. He tangled his fingers in Sirius' hair, and smiled as a shudder raced down Sirius' spine.

"Pleased with yourself?" asked Sirius, biting down on Remus' bottom lip.

Remus gasped, fingers tightening involuntarily in Sirius' hair. "Very," he whispered, angling his head to kiss him again, the shift of their tongues against one another causing something to tremble inside Sirius' chest and swirl in his stomach. When he pulled away it was to rest his forehead against Remus', trying to catch his breath. Remus shifted to nuzzle against him, nose to cheek, pressing a chaste kiss to the very corner of his mouth.

"You never cease to surprise me," Sirius murmured, half-smiling.

"Hmmm." Remus tilted his head to nibble the line of Sirius' jaw.

"Playing fetch. In the rain." Sirius sighed happily as Remus pressed a kiss to his throat. "Hardly the Remus Lupin so many people know."

Remus lifted his head. "Then they really don't know me at all," he smiled, and kissed him again.

~*~

Afternoon bled into evening without any improvement in the weather. Remus stuffed the crack beneath the window with newspaper and lit a fire in the grate while Sirius showered. Pleasantly mud-free after only twenty-five minutes of scrubbing (a new post-transformation record) Sirius charmed the bathroom plumbing to supply hot water for Remus too, and left fresh towels on the radiator so they'd be warm when Remus was done. Remus made up four limericks while showering, all of which cast aspersions on the virility of their friends and colleagues, and Sirius got entirely distracted by a back-issue of _Quidditch Weekly_ instead of dressing. Remus eventually distracted him from the magazine by kissing him soundly, an act that rapidly devolved into over half-an-hour of snogging for snogging's sake, and ten minutes of bickering over who had the more talented tongue.

Remus heated soup the non-magical way for dinner while Sirius made thick, clumsy ham sandwiches for them to take to work the next day. They ate on the floor in front of the fire, and played a reckless game of noodle-spotting (a game Sirius was proud to have made up on his own). Much as others might search the summer skies for clouds that looked like pianos and snakes, Sirius liked to search his chicken noodle soup for carrots impersonating wildebeest and pasta that looked like crows. They both agreed that Remus won with the piece of celery that resembled thestral, but Sirius' noodle castle came a very close second.

There was work to do that evening – parchment to gather and shirts to find, and they knew their Monday would be hateful if they didn't do it now. But the fire crackled an irresistible invitation to stay put, and Sirius leaned his head against Remus' shoulder as the latter magicked albums onto the turntable of their ancient record-player. For a long time they said and did nothing save hum along to favorite songs, and remark that they both still smelled like wet grass and ozone, despite showers and soap and all new clothes. Neither minded very much.

Remus eventually jiggled his shoulder against the increasingly relaxed weight of a drowsy Sirius Black. "Are you falling asleep?"

"Noooo." Sirius frowned in protest. "Far too early for that."

"Barely eight o'clock."

"Exactly." Sirius rubbed his cheek against the worn cotton of Remus' t-shirt. "If I were to fall asleep right now, word would leak out that I was nothing but a doddery old codger."

"Destined to drink warm beer and talk about greyhound racing down the pub with your mates."

"Exactly. I'd need to wear a flat cap and that'd do criminal things to my hair."

Remus chuckled quietly. "You did have quite the afternoon."

Sirius hummed his agreement. "Bloody brilliant. If there's something better than dirt and rain and leaves and sticks, I don't know what it is."

"Food doesn't make the list?"

"Don't mess with my moment. I'm storing it away in my memories."

Remus smiled. "And there's no room for food back there?"

"No. Precisely enough space for dirt and rain and leaves and sticks and maybe a caption about what an attractive dog I am."

Remus gave a soft huff of laughter. "By far the most attractive dog I know."

Sirius sat up and turned to face him, one eyebrow raised "Are you trying to flatter me?"

"Perhaps."

Sirius offered a mock-gasp. "Mr _Lupin_. Is it possible you're angling to get into my pants?"

"Quite possible," Remus smiled.

"And that come hither look upon your face. Do you mean to hint at acts of flagrant debauchery with such a smirk?"

"I rather think I do."

Sirius stood and offered Remus his hand. "Well then take this doddery old codger to bed right this second, and damn those who judge," he said emphatically.

It took some time for them to make it to their bedroom. There were lights to put out and the fire to bank and five feet of wall in the hallway to press against while they kissed and touched and moaned softly into the shell of each other's ears. There were clothes to get rid of and extra pillows to throw to the bottom of the bed, but eventually there was nothing but the slide of skin against skin beneath cool, crisp sheets. The rain pattered against the window, a staccato accompaniment to the legato drift of fingertips and the flick of tongues, the warm weight of kisses and the arch of limbs. Entreaties were whispered and affirmations gasped until they shattered, broken, blinded and undone by the other's touch and the other's voice.

There were words exchanged in darkness, Sirius whispering into the curve of Remus' neck and Remus pressing words into the tumble of Sirius' hair. Sirius cracked a joke and Remus laughed, and they tussled over whom got the greatest share of blankets (with a fair amount of kicking and elbowing employed in defense of both sides). Remus developed a sudden craving for jellybeans, and Sirius wrapped both arms around his waist to prevent him from leaving their bed to find some. Remus whined, then laughed when Sirius tickled him, and eventually acquiesced to curl close while warmth lapped lazily at their bones.

Sirius let his eyes flutter closed, soothed by the rhythm of rain against the windowpane. "I'd like Sundays to be like this forever," he said at last, feeling almost a little drunk from the sensation of Remus' fingers skimming repeatedly over his arm.

"I'd prefer it didn't always rain."

"Hmmm.' Sirius felt himself drifting. "But we've discussed this. It's _England_."

Remus gave a soft huff of laughter. "Even England can offer us a spot of sunshine now and again."

"Bossy, bossy, bossy," said Sirius, words slurred with contentment. "Can't I be your spot of sunshine?"

Remus groaned. "Oh you sad and pathetic bastard."

"Sad and pathetic? Really?" Sirius sighed thoughtfully. "Are y'sure it's not just adorable? Doesn't it make you want to scratch me behind my ears?"

"No," Remus whispered, and pressed a kiss to Sirius' shoulder.

"Hmmm." Sirius nuzzled closer. "What if I said I loved you?"

Remus smiled. "For that I'd scratch your ears."

Sirius lifted his head. "Nothing else?"

Remus kissed him, lingering over the simple act. "I'd say I love you too," he murmured, smiling.

"Mmmm." Sirius let his head drop back down. "See? Every Sunday should be like this. Every Sunday for the rest of our lives."


End file.
